Laugh Fest

One interesting fact about me is that when I laugh really hard, I lose motor functions. It is almost like the amount of energy required to fuel my laughter is so great that there is not enough power left over for my appendages to consume, thus they shut down. I first noticed this issue when I was in junior high school. My sister and I would come home from school and get started on our homework at the kitchen table. Laura would generally use this time to see how it would take her to distract me from my work (which usually wasn't very long) with jokes or funny stories from the day. After the laughing fits would run rapid and I would try to get back to my homework, I noticed that I had almost forgotten how to hold a pencil. My work would be sloppy because it was hard from me to force my fingers to make the strokes needed to communicate my answers. You could look at a piece of my work and tell when Laura and I had lost it. Numbers one through ten would be nice and neat and then eleven and twelve looked like I tried to do my work blindfolded.

As I got older, the fits started to take control of more than just my digits. My arms would turn to jelly and often times I would bend over right at the hips because my abs couldn't hold up my upper body. And then there are those rare occasions when I keel right over.

About a month ago, we went to go see my sister-in-law who was staring in a community theater play. After the show, we were lingering around the auditorium, waiting to congratulate her when Troy and I started to get bored and then we got slap-happy. Troy stood behind the back row of seats and with his hands in his pockets, he started to bend at the waist over the seat while keeping his upper body straight. He would bob a little and then come back to a standing position. He looked like one of those drinking water birds that bobs back and forth. I was laughing so hard that not only did I cross my arms and flop over at the hips, I eventually fell to the floor laughing. When I was strong enough to stand back up again, I had tears in my eyes and Troy and I felt the need to show everyone we came with Troy's funny new talent. Most people didn't find it as amusing as we did though . . . . weird.

Being home for the holidays, I have a lot of these moments when I am with Laura and Troy. We just had one a few minutes ago and it ended with me flopped on the floor in the hallway. Then Laura and Troy come out and laugh at me laughing on the floor, which just makes me laugh harder. Troy asked me what it feels like when I lose my motor functions and it wasn't until that moment that I wondered if I could really control them while laughing. If I concentrated really hard, would I still keel right over? Honestly, I don't know. What I do know is that laughing is awesome and if something is so funny that my body feels the need to commit to the laugh fest instead of holding my body up straight, then I am all about losing my motor functions.

Birds, Births and Christmas

Here we are. Christmas Day. All of the presents have been opened, and now we are just waiting to devour that stuffed bird, baking in the oven. Its smell is wafting through the house, tempting us. I wish I could say I was one of those people who could "smile because it happened" instead of "cry bcause it's over" but I'm not. In my opinion, the best part of Christmas is the anticipation of the day. I love celebrating the weeks of advent at church, playing only Christmas music in my car since the day after Thanksgiving, buying and wrapping gifts, and making our cats Molly and Olivia wear the Mrs. Claus cap and skirt that my sister Laura bought for them. I am slowing embracing the fact that now it is only a matter of days (maybe weeks if I can milk it long enough) before all the decorations get put away and we have to endure the long weeks of winter, sans Christmas cheer. That being said, I have spent the morning trying to distract myself from feeling blue with the realization that Christmas has only a few precious hours left by thinking random thoughts.

1st Random Thought: I wonder how long our Christmas tree stood erect after we left for Chicago. I am betting the cats took it down within at least a day. Thankfully, I took off the breakable ornaments before we left, predicting the inevitable outcome of our little tree.

2nd Random Thought: Why is Dradle, Dradle, Dradle stuck in my head? I'm not even Jewish. Although every time I hear that song I think of Adam Sandler and his Hanukkah song. And since it is the Festival of Lights, and I love those, maybe I should get myself a menorah.

3rd Random Thought: I wonder if Dunkin Donuts has ornaments. I would definately put that on my tree. Laura and I will have to check that out later when we go get a cup of joe.

4th Random Thought: My parents have a scale in the upstairs bathroom that us girls shared growing up. I almost got on it this morning out of curiosity, and then my common sense stepped in and told me not to. Though the numbers that would have appeared would have probably ruined my day, I keep thinking about what they would be. And then I think, what does it matter, muscle weighs more than fat and I am totally ripped, so the number would be skewed anyway.

5th Random Thought: So, Christ was born today. Well, about two thousand years ago. Thus our reason for celebrating. Every year I think about how brutal that must have been. I mean, Mary all huge and prego, is being drug down to Bethelhem on a Donkey and then gave birth surrounded by stinky animals who use the same space to sleep and relieve themselves. Gross. No epidurals there either. Ouch. I am kinda grateful that I wasn't the one picked for that job. Between my threshold for pain and my need to be clean, I would be freaking out. Although my outbursts might have made the gospels for entertaining.

Well, that's all I have so far, but the day is still young.

I hope you have a very Merry Christmas.

Awful / Awesome Gifts

One great thing about working at a school is Christmas break – excuse me, “Winter” break. The kiddoes are so darn cute the day before too. One of my kids came in this morning and greeted me with a hearty, “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Carlson!” I even got a few gifts this week, which I was very surprised by. The best part about getting gifts from kids is the look on their face right before you are about to open it. You can almost feel their anxiety over whether or not you’ll like the present, which really translates in kid-language that they are anxious about whether or not you like them. Of course, you ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over everything.

The funny thing about gifts is that they can be a tricky beast. Let’s be honest, we have all gotten bad gifts. The funniest gift I ever got was meant to be a nice and meaningful gift. It was a statue of Moses with the two slabs of stone containing the Ten Commandments behind him. Come on. That’s funny. Just when you think it couldn’t get any worse (or better depending on how you look at it), it lit up and it was a fountain, both of these features run on battery power. As soon as Laura e-mails me the picture, I will post it on this blog. Trust me, it's amazing. I don’t think I owned that thing for more than ten seconds before my sister, Laura asked me if she could have it. She thought it was hilarious. And she would be right. She still proudly claims it as a piece of her beloved property. In fact she told me it is the centerpiece of her kitchen table right now and for that; I will always respect her for the fine human being she is.

One of the teachers at my school got the best gift I have ever seen a student give a teacher. It is a plastic-framed poster of three, red roses, a flute and sheet music. It is impossible to look at it without laughing. It is tacky as all get-out and the fact that the student thought that this very feminine and whimsical poster would be a great gift for Mike, is awkward and awesome all at the same time. It looks like a poster I probably would have owned myself and bought from one of those Scholastic Book Fairs circa 1992. Alright, if we are being honest here, I was totally jealous of Mike’s great gift. It was way better than the ‘Happy Easter’ glass pane with a worn out bunny that the same student gave to me a couple of weeks ago. Some guys have all the luck.

As we approach the next couple of days that are filled with gift giving, I hope you are blessed with great gifts . . . or really heinous gifts that you can laugh and blog about later.

Stuck

Well, if there is one thing on my Christmas list that I really don't have enough of, it probably wouldn't be snow, and yet that is what we are currently receiving. Even hard core Minnesotans are grumbling at the fluffy, frozen precipitation. The fact is that the Twin Cities are still recovering from the blizzard from last Saturday. There are roads that still needed a few more visits from the snow plows and the metro area is actually having trouble finding places to store all the snow. Mother Nature doesn't give a rip about that though, she felt like wrecking havoc today and so she did. It isn't as bad as the last snow storm, but enough to be a pain in the rear. Maybe Mother Nature is having relationship issues, hence the fury. Just a thought.

Anywho, my car got stuck this afternoon due to Mother Nature's man troubles. I can't think of a time where that had happened to me before. I really don't think I have ever been stuck in snow, but I did today. I was leaving my friend's house and trying to get up a hill but my little G6 didn't have the gusto to get the job done. I tried going in reverse and then putting the car in drive. I tried letting the traction control do it's thing. I tried shoveling out little tire paths with my snow scraper. Finally, when nothing else worked, I even tried shoving my face in my hands and crying. Amazingly enough that didn't get me anywhere, weird, right? I just didn't know what to do and I knew I couldn't push my car and steer all by myself. I was about to get out of the car and run back to my friend's house thinking I was going to have to stay there until the plows came, when her neighbors came walking down the road to help me. I almost hugged them. I was so relieved and would have never become un-stuck without them. After they helped me, we said our goodbyes and shouted out "Merry Christmas!" just like in the movies.

When I got home, I was still feeling pretty chipper . . . until I got stuck again. This time in my own driveway. You would think that was a good thing except my car was all hood-winked in a way where I was parked on a diagonal and Troy wouldn't have been able to get his car in the garage. I had to back my car up all the way back to the road and give myself a running head start. Then, out of frustration, I selfishly took the garage space, tired of fighting the snow in the driveway and in general. In my defense, I have been parking outside for the past month due to the tools and materials we are using for our bathroom renovation which has taken up residency in my garage space. I figured Troy's Mazda could sleep outside, just this once. Of course when I got in the house, I immediately felt guilty for taking his garage space, so I went outside to shovel the driveway so Troy wouldn't have the same trouble I did. Now I don't feel so bad. Plus the old girl (my car) needed a break. She had a very trying day. Sleeping in the garage is the car equivalent to a pedicure. She just wants cute tires! Her dogs are barking, for crying out loud. Here she is, resting in the warm garage.

Being stuck is not much fun. I guess in any scenario being stuck stinks, because even if you were on a white, sandy beach in Hawaii, if you described yourself as being "stuck" there, it would insinuate that it is against your will. Although if that is how you would describe your stay in Hawaii, you are clearly mentally unstable. The only way I could think of being 'stuck' as fun would be if the other variables involved were awesome. For example:

1. You're stuck in the airport for hours . . . but so is the entire cast of LOST and they have decided to reenact season three for you.
2. You're stuck next to a guy with bad B.O. on the bus . . . but he happens to be childhood friends with John Krasinski and he invites you to John's pool party that afternoon.
3. You're stuck in Antarctica . . . but the scientists there have a secret cave they take you to which is actually a porthole to a beach resort in Bermuda.

I think one way being stuck today would have been awesome would be if I was in Back to the Future II and just shoved a few of my lunch leftovers in my Mr. Fusion and then flew home. Problem solved. That would have been fabulous.

Swanky Night on the Town

Last night we celebrated our "observed anniversary." Our three year anniversary was on Wednesday, but who wants to celebrate on a school night? Plus we went to my very romantic school faculty Christmas party that night at Broadway Pizza. (I hope you are picking up the sarcasm here, people.) So, we postponed it until last night. The whole night was pretty much one big movie. The kind of romantic comedy that I would have totally been pumped to go see in theaters. It would have been the kind of movie that would have had me swooning during the preview and then Troy would lean over and tell me to go see that movie with my friend, Krista. That's how awesome last night was.

Troy told me that he wanted to take me to Kincaid's in St. Paul, but the earliest reservation they had was at 9:10 at night. We decided to take it. Plus in the movies, people always go out to dinner late. It makes it more swanky. We drove into the capitol city where there were twinkling Christmas lights brightening up the streets of St. Paul. We pulled into the parking garage and found a spot close to the elevators!! This was a major bonus for me who was wearing cute cocktail attire that was not at all functional for the bitter Minnesota winters. My legs and toes were exposed so that I could wear my cute black, silk skirt with my fabulous peep-toe shoes. I mean, we were going to a swanky restaurant, so I had to bust out the big guns. Another awesome part of the the evening was that we didn't even need to venture out in the cold!! The parking garage opened right up to the restaurant!! Double bonus. As we walked through the hallway to Kincaid's, there was a Christmas tree made entirely out of red and white poinsettias. It was beautiful.

The inside of the restaurant looks like a fancy hunting lodge. Red, black and white plaid carpet, shiny red and gold plaid drapes, large artwork donning the walls, antlers and fish paintings mounted around. It seemed like at any second, King Henry VIII would come waltzing in with his entourage and his wife of the season after a long afternoon of pheasant hunting. We were sat near the back of restaurant and I slid into the booth while Troy sat in the chair that had a view of the outside. Our server, Todd, made us aware of all the delicious specials of the evening, took our drink and appetizer order and left us in our cozy nook. Troy asked if I wanted to switch spots because he could see some of the Christmas lights outside. (Does that man know me well or what?) When I sat in his seat, I saw all the Christmas lights that made the skating rink outside magical! I was so excited, I may or may not have let out a little squeal and when I happened to glance at a table near us, I saw an old man look at me with amusement. I guess not too many people get excited about Christmas lights these days.

I decided to order the mahi-mahi with lobster over a bed of fluffy Yukon Gold mashed potatoes complemented by crispy asparagus. When I ordered, Todd said, "Excellent choice." Just like in the movies!! We began our meal with fried calamari and bread that was so good, I thought I was going to melt under the table while I chewed. Troy ordered a delicious steak and we shared parts of our meals all while using impeccable table manners and laughing gaily at the other's clever comments. Since it was a swanky anniversary dinner, we had to get desert. At Todd's suggestion, we ordered a decadent chocolate cake with icing that was warmed up to the point of it almost being liquid. Then Todd drizzled hot fudge over top that was the perfect mix of sweetness and bitterness and Troy and I found ourselves dipping our fingers in the small gravy boat that housed the leftover fudge.

We left the restaurant feeling full and very swanky. Then we drove around St. Paul listening to Christmas music and looking at Christmas lights. We even saw the leg lamp from A Christmas Story in one of the front windows!! You better believe we backtracked so we could see it again. Pure awesomeness. Besides our wedding day, this may have been the next best night ever. I thought for sure Rob Reiner was going to jump out from under the table or the back seat of our car and yell, "Cut! Let's try this scene again." But Rob never did. I was the lead female role in my own movie last night and I am pretty sure I am going to win an Academy Award for that category. I am also feeling pretty confident that Troy is a shoe-in for best actor in a leading role. Look for us at the ceremony. We'll be the swanky ones . . . . winning.





Night photo of Marcy in St. Paul taken from www.mitchster.com which is a super cool website that had great photos of the Twin Cities.

Sassy Pam

Penelope is a character on Saturday Night Live and is known for being the "one up-pper." You can't have a normal conversation with her because she is so irritating. She has always done something better than you, her sob stories are always more heart-wrenching and honestly, you just want to kick her in the shins when she is talking to you. I feel like lately I am surrounded by Penelopes. It seems like it doesn't matter which social circle I am in, I will share something that I might be stressed or excited about and someone has to come in and announce to the group their tale which makes what I have shared completely lame.

In the past, I would have described myself as quiet - maybe even passive. Unfortunately, "Pam's Penelopes" are sucking the joy out of my life which is slowly creating a monster. Instead of being Sweet Pam, I am turning into Sassy Pam. I will be sharing a story, someone comes in and one-up's me, and then I get sassy. The worst part of it is that many times, the words fly out of my mouth before I have had time to assess the damage they may create. Thankfully, I am new to the Sassy Pam title, so my verbal assaults are fairly harmless . . . for now. Just as iron sharpens iron, my tongue gets a little more dangerous with each one-upper interaction. I am fearful that someday I won't have any control.Thankfully, I am addressing this issue now.

I don't know really how Sassy Pam evolved, but I do have my theories. One is that I have usually been easy going and "the nice person" so people took advantage of that. It is in my humble opinion that the Nice Guy really does finish last. For example, last week I had class and because my school is downtown, I have to park in a parking garage. I saw this really great spot open and it was right near the exit, so I followed the arrows and drove the correct way to get there, only to find out some yahoo had cheated and drove the wrong way to beat me to it!! I was so mad!! Who does that?! Maybe Sassy Pam came from the stresses of work, family, school, etc. But unbeknown to the fools to take advantage of the nice guy, the irritation starts to bubble and brew up inside of us and it is not until there is an explosion does the ebb of frustration occur.

Currently, I am in the process of trying to avoid that explosion. I am sure it would not be pretty nor lady-like should I fly off the handle. June Cleaver would definitely not approve of such an outburst so I need to formulate a plan for when I encounter those one-uppers. So far, my only idea is to do push ups. (I can actually do awesome push-ups, not the lame, girly ones on my knees.) I am thinking that these one-uppers drive me so crazy that I need to release that anger somehow and perhaps the best way is kinesthetically. I don't really have any other ideas at this point.

So, let this be a warning to all you one-uppers out there. I probably won't ever tell you to your face that you are in fact this particular breed, but you will know if you if I randomly bust out a few sets of push ups and if that is the case, you may want to slowly exit the room before there is an explosion. Or (here's a crazy thought), you could just listen politely to what I am telling you instead of being another Penelope. Consider yourself warned.

Pockets

This past weekend, Troy and I went to his company Christmas party at a restaurant in Minneapolis called Jax. The party has been held there for the past few years. It is really fun to see everyone that Troy works with and their spouses. The food is delicious and the bartenders make great tips that night. My favorite part about the party is that we get to dress up. It almost feels like we are attending a cocktail party from the 50's, which of course, is right up my alley.

I bought a new outfit for the party. A silk, razor-back, black top tucked into a flattering black skirt. I loved the outfit. I felt very classy. The best part about the outfit was - hands down - the pockets in the skirt. Whenever I try on a dress or a skirt and it has pockets, it totally makes the outfit so much better. My friend even had pockets in her wedding dress this summer, which in my opinion, only made her dress that much more awesome.

Pockets in general are like cozy friends. They warm your hands, they hold on to your chap stick and when you are feeling awkward, they allow you to put your fidgety digits in their hidden cove. I had a couple of pairs of dresspants that didn't have pockets. I never knew what to do with myself when I wore them. Where do I put my chapstick? Where do I shove my hands? I eventually got rid of those pants, mostly because I hated that they didn't have pockets. Someone who bought them from Goodwill is now struggling with the same issues I had with them. Although there is a very good possibility that the new pocket-less pants owner is not quite as neurotic as me . . . . . Who even makes pants without pockets? The same people who weren't hugged enough as children. That's who. Because pockets are a wardobe's way of telling us that we are cared for. Who doesn't love that?

Everyone loves pockets. Think of all the great things named after pockets: pocket watch, Polly Pocket, pita pockets, Hot Pockets, etc. I think one of the reasons why pockets are so great is because of the word's German root, which means bag. Just a thought.

With that, I'll leave you with a song:

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away.
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day.

See, even Perry Como thought pockets were awesome.

Black Friday

When my sister Laura and I were in high school, we started a tradition with my mom that we get up wicked early in the morning the day after Thanksgiving for the door buster sales. We would be up and at the mall by 5 am. **Side Note: I was usually very quiet/crabby at this time. My mom and Laura would tease me about getting a coffee right away and a snack to help the moodiness of my low blood sugar and lack of caffeine. By the way, when people tease you at 5 am, it is not funny. Especially if you are not a morning person, like myself.** There have been some years where we haven't been able to do the Black Friday shopping because sometimes Troy and I can't make it down to Chicago in time, but then we just go hog wild for the day after Christmas sales!

This year, I flew solo for the shopping event. I didn't get up as early as my mom and sister would want me to, but I was up and at 'em at 7:30, which is early for me, especially if I have a day off of work! I was worried that because I was going so late that there wouldn't be any good sales, or any good merchandise left. When I arrived at my favorite shopping center, Arbor Lakes in Maple Grove, it looked like any other average shopping afternoon. I didn't have any trouble finding parking, cute items to purchase and there were no grumpy shoppers in sight. In fact, I sneezed while waiting in line at the Gap and a woman, very kindly said, "God Bless You!"

This makes me wonder while today is called "Black Friday." First of all, it is the first full day of the Christmas season, and secondly, it involves shopping. These happen to be two of my favorite things all mixed together. The only thing that would make this day any better would be if Troy came with me, completely decorated in Christmas lights. Then all of the things I love would be present. Today should be called Gold Friday because today is so awesome. I found great deals, put a dent in gifts for family, (and a few gifts for me) and came home in one piece with a credit card that is not smoking a hole through my wallet.

So, happy Gold Friday to all you who sucked it up and got up early to save a little dough-ray-me and enjoy the first day of the Christmas season.

Two Reasons . . .

There are two things that my house has in common with the North Pole:

1. It is freezing here today. At least, that it what my in-laws told us when they came over for Thanksgiving dinner. Troy and I haven't actually left the house at all. This is one of the benefits to hosting holiday meals
2. We are currently 90% decorated with Christmas cheer. That's right, I even have Christmas music playing on our laptop as I type, and I am loving every single second of it. Once Troy's parents left our home, I waited approximately five minutes (this is a rough estimate and could quite possible be even less time than previously stated) before I went out to the garage to get our Christmas tree out of the attic. Quite honestly, that is a record for me considering I generally decorate the weekend before Thanksgiving since we are usually out of town. This year we hosted the turkey dinner (which was fabulous, by the way) so I couldn't decorate as early as I wanted to.

Our house is only 90% decorated for another two reasons:
1. I have not yet put the ornaments on our tree because we have two little, furry friends who are curious as most cats are. Molly has already sat under the tree a couple of times, looking up to the top, probably wondering if she can climb it and how long it would take her. And I am still waiting for Olivia to knock the tree over as she does at least once or twice a year. For this reason, I usually wait a day or two to put the ornaments up in hopes that the novelty of the seasonal climbing wall wears off.
2. We are currently renovating our bathroom (which will soon be the topic of a completely different blog) and since we are going to be lugging a new bathtub, vanity and a few sheets of drywall up our stairs, I can't put our beautiful, pre-lit garland up on the banisters, which is a crying shame. I patiently waited for them to go on sale at the after Christmas sale at Target two years ago. Last year I put the up and loved every minute of their radiant glow winding up our staircase. But this year I have to wait . . . (sniffle).

We are fake-tree people at the Carlson Christmas Casa. I know that for some this is blasphemous. I think there have been times where I have actually offended people by admitting this. Apparently these individuals are involved in the Merry Christmas Militia or something to make them feel so strongly. In some ways, I can see their point. I mean, I claim to be a Christmas aficionado and here I hang my precious and memorable ornaments on branches of lies. You need to hear me out though, we have a fake tree for yet another two reasons:

1. I can keep my Christmas tree up for much longer than if I had a real one because eventually the needles all fall off, therefore allowing me to keep the title of a true Christmas aficionado.
2. One time, my parents heard about a woman who bought a real tree and there was spider's nest in the trunk. When the tree was in her warm house, the eggs hatched and there were spiders everywhere!! EEK!! Even hearing that story second hand was enough to freak me out and I don't think I can even go chop down my own tree now.

So, here I sit, enjoying my lovely Christmas decorations, in all their fake splendor. This really is the best part of the holiday season because today I know that I have all this time to revel in the Carlson Christmas Cheer spread throughout our house. I am far away from the saddest day of the year. The day that I have to say goodbye for now to all these wonderful decorations, put them back in their boxes and up in the cold attic to sleep until next year. Today, I get to anticipate the whole Christmas season.

November Snow

I love to watch Fox 9 News in the morning. Mostly because I think the meteorologist, Keith Marler is so funny. I have seriously almost shot coffee out of my nose due to intense laughing at his antics. This week, we have had beautiful weather - it was in the upper 60's on Monday and Tuesday! However, Mother Nature is a fickle woman and last night it started to snow. Even as I am typing, the wet and heavy snow continues to dance across our windows. This dance is more of a rumba and less of a waltz. It even knocked our satellite out, so no HGTV for me today. It is a little intense. It even has Olivia and Molly intrigued.

I would be one of those people who claim to hate winter, but I think that might not be entirely true. I love snow before Christmas because it gets me in the holiday spirit. This morning when I woke up, before I opened my eyes, it felt a little like Christmas morning. I was so excited to see how much snow we got. Last night when the storm just started to dance its way into the Twin Cities, Troy started talking about spending the day today putting up the Christmas tree and all of our cheerful holiday decorations. I was squealing with excitement, but I am not entirely sure if he was joking or not . . . there is a very good possibility that he was just teasing me. Very good possibility. However, he did come downstairs this morning dancing a little jig and singing "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" which I obviously joined in on. I am seriously fighting the urge to put up our Christmas stuff at this point.

Another great thing about snow is garages. One of my first thoughts this morning was how thankful I was that I didn't have to go out and shovel my car out of the snow. Should I need to make a quick get-a-way, I can just drive my pristine car out of the garage and, in all reality, get it stuck in the driveway . . . but at least I didn't have to scrape! When I lived with my friend Krista, she had a one car garage which she very generously shared with me. We had a system where we would take turns and every other night we got to park our car in the garage. **Side Note: This is one of the reasons why Krista is such an amazing person because I would have selfishly hoarded that space to myself.** Anywho, there was no greater feeling than waking up to snow in the morning and realizing that last night was your night to park in the garage!! On the flip side, there was no crappier feeling than waking up to snow and realizing that you didn't have the garage space last night and now have to rush through your morning routine so you have time to scrape off your car! Bummer fest right there.

Well, I think I am going to see if I can sneak out some of the Christmas decorations without Troy noticing. Or maybe I will make an attempt to drive my little G6 to Target and get some snow pants so I can keep my toasty warm while I build a snowman. Either way, I will be enjoying our November snow.

(Our backyard this morning)

Holiday Coffee Cups

I am currently working on getting my masters in education. I have class every Thursday night from 4:45 to 9:30. Since I go right to class directly from work, it makes for a long day. Because of this, I treat myself to a Dunn Brother's coffee and a yogurt parfait. **Side Note: Those yogurt parfaits are delicious. If you haven't had one, you need to drop what you are doing and get yourself one.**

Today I was feeling rather chipper and thought to myself, "Self, maybe you don't need to get a coffee today, just get that delicious, crack-infested, yogurt parfait." And so that was my plan as I was walked through the sky-ways of Minneapolis. Then, I got to the Dunn Brothers and realized . . . . that the holiday cups were there, just waiting for me to enjoy my coffee with a little cardboard cup of holiday cheer. So, I did what any self-respecting, Christmas-loving, American-consumer would do . . . I bought a cup of coffee. And you know what? It was awesome. Every. Single. Drop.

Anywho, it was a beautiful thing and I love that the Christmas coffee cups are out. And because of my love for them, I have written an haiku:

(ahem)

Christmas coffee cups,
Spreading their holiday cheer,
Who doesn't love that?

Thank you.

Feminists, June Cleaver and Pancakes

I was born in the wrong generation. Though I believe that in marriage and in life, males and females should be on an equal playing field, I tend to take on many of the tasks and responsibilities that June Cleaver found to be in her job description. Since these two ideas often clash, I think the reason that I have pseudo-feminist views and yet still clean the bathrooms at home are due to the fact that I am an anal neat freak - not because Troy expects me to do these jobs. He has been known to pick up the mop and broom every once in a while too.

When I say that I was born in the wrong generation, I mean that there is a part of me that thinks traditional, "old-fashioned" ideas are romantic and cozy. I like making meatloaf and mashed potatoes from scratch. I think cooking is therapeutic and honestly, it just tastes better. I like to wear the black and white paisley apron that my sister, Laura gave me for Christmas two years ago. It protects my clothes and I think it's really cute. I like getting recipe cards from friends and family on 3x5 cards with their handwriting. It makes me feel closer to them when I am making their dish. I love place cards, handwritten invitations, candles and table cloths. I am June Cleaver in the new millennium. It is a role I embrace.

Sometimes my perfectionism gets in the way of me living vicariously through June. When a mistake is made in the kitchen, it suddenly becomes catastrophic and makes me want to throw my spatula at the wall. Since I am becoming more of a veteran in the kitchen, these temper tantrums have become almost non-existent. I almost welcome my mistakes now because then I learn from them. For example, I now know that sometimes the fancy cook books can still have misprints. (I had a breakdown after trying to make a chicken pot pie by Paula Dean. There were tears. It was not pretty.)

Pancakes, for whatever reason have always been a trouble spot for me. I usually burn most of the batch, the house gets super smoky and our smoke detector blares it's annoying warning which then forces me to grab a dishtowel and fan it down like a maharajah. Thus, I don't make them very often, even at Troy's request. Today, I decided, was the day that I grab a hold of the pancake reins and tame that beast. That, and I had some eggs in the fridge there were going to go bad this week. I still burned the first two pancakes and the house looked like we had left a fog machine on after a rave, BUT not a peep from the smoke detector was made and the rest of the pancakes survived!! Yay me!!

Suddenly, I realized that I figured out why I had always failed at pancakes in the past! I know how to make them right in the future! (Little things like not trying to multitask in the kitchen and then forgetting your little pancakes, or turning the heat up super hot, to name a couple.) As Troy and I munched on my super yummy, chocolate chip pancakes, we had visions of having Pancake Saturdays with our non-existent, well behaved, polite children who also happen to have impeccable table manners. We dreamed of having themed Pancake Saturdays: chocolate chip, blueberry, and maybe even German, Swedish and Pannekoekens as a nod to our heritages. One big happy Carlson family sitting around the dinning room table enjoying our pancakes and our Saturdays together . . . . sigh . . . . (If this paragraph suddenly gives to the urge to ask about out family time line, see Baby Fever.)

I think that vision is cozy and sweet. It comes straight from the June Cleaver's Bible for family, food and togetherness. If that makes the common feminist want to body slam me, come on over. I'll be ready with my cute apron and rolling pin. And after I have dominated that battle, I may even invite her to join us for Pancake Saturday . . . if I can find an extra place card.

First Degree vs. Third Degree

This week I was rocking super cute flats . . . that tried to eat my heels. It's part of the Torture of the Toes season. My feet are rebelling against the closed-toe footwear after their flip-flop freedom of summer. However, my flats are tired of spending their days cooped up in a dark closet and are vamping up to fight their own battle of belonging. I had to wear band aids on my heels for two days in a row. Even showering was painful. When the water would hit my war wounds, I would have to contort my body so that I could get clean without my heels being exposed to the shower stream. (In case you were wondering, I was not very successful at this.)

I learned at my first-aid training a couple of weeks ago, that blisters are actually burns. Your foot rubs up against the shoe, therefore creating friction and heat which is essentially burning your skin. When your skin is red and aggravated, it is a first degree burn. When that aggravation turns into a blister, it has now become a second or in some really terrible cases, a third degree burn. This is what lead me to my next segment of Pam-sense. Why are third-degree burns worse than first degree burns, but first degree murder is worse than third-degree murder? Doesn't that seem a little inconsistent?

This would be a great time to admit that this question was actually brought up by a couple of teachers at my school. They wanted me to blog about it at the time, but I write my blogs based on a topic that is burning my brain. (Yes, that pun was completely intended.) So, when I got my nasty blisters on my innocent little heels, I thought that now was the time to address this issue.

Let's compare these degrees of degrees with a table because they reek of organization and I love that.

	Burns	Murder
First	-Injures only the tops layers of skin -Healed skin will not scar	-Super bad -To kill with malice -Premeditated and deliberate.
Third	-Super painful -Destroys all layers of skin -Require emergency medical treatment	-Not premeditated or deliberate -Due to inherently dangerous acts

So, I am confused. Why did these names . . . get these names, when they mean the opposite? Wouldn't it have made more sense for the medical community to have a little powwow with the criminal justice community and work out their differences?

I bet I know what happened. I bet a lady doctor was married to a male detective during prehistoric times. They were in charge of labeling important terms for the first edition text book that would soon be chiseled out of limestone when an argument broke out about who's turn it was was to prepare the mastodon for dinner. Lady Doctor complained that she just skinned the saber-toothed tiger the other day. Man Detective whined about how he finally mounted the woolly mammoth head in their cave after freezing the meat in Ziploc baggies. They were at an impasse. Finally, they stormed out of their caves each to write out their own text. And the rest as they say, is history.

I mean, it's just a theory.

Happy Election Day!!

Today is November 2. Election Day. Also known by some (me) as one of the most fun days of the year. I love to vote. Love it. I am wearing my "I Voted" sticker right now and am seriously considering adding it as an accessory to my outfit tomorrow so I can further enjoy this reminder of my civic duty. **Side Note: Troy knows how much I love to vote (and the sticker) so he gave me his sticker. If that ain't love then I don't know what love is.**

Our original plan was to wake up early this morning and vote before work. By doing so, I would have ample enjoyment of my "I Voted" sticker. However, as we were getting ready for bed last night and about to close our peepers, we realized that we could never get up early. Finally, I asked Troy, "You just wanna vote after work?" Troy's reply, "Yeah." Don't get me wrong, if the only opportunity we had to vote was at the butt-crack of dawn, then yes, we would have gotten up early, but if you know Troy and I at all, you are probably laughing at our attempt of waking up because we are not early risers. Even though I didn't get to enojy my sticker all day, I am thoroughly enjoying it now.

I love voting for more reasons besides that bright, red sticker . . . though that does have a huge influence on me. First of all, you have to check in. Someone has a book with your name it and wants to make sure that you are there to cast your opinion. Look at it as your community viewing you as a rock star. Not only do they want your autograph, they want your input! (And that is exactly how I view it, obviously.) I was very excited to give my name to the elderly man who was running this station. I flashed him a big toothy grin. Next, they give you a ballot and you get to go to a little cubical. I mean, basically it is like a little fort where you get to hide out. All you need is a s'more. Then, you get to choose whomever you want to for the open office. Awesomeness. There is nobody there telling you what to do. You get to pick whomever you want to. After you're done, you get to bring your ballot to this machine that sucks it up like a Hoover. (I literally had to keep myself in check. I thought it was really fun how my ballot was sucked in!) Finally, you get your sticker. The whole event makes for a great evening. I wasn't a political science major, but if you throw dinner into the mix, it sounds like a smokin' date night.

Let me get on my soap box for a minute. If you want to get under my skin, tell me you didn't vote, or don't think you want to vote. These are the same people who complain about our government. No way, José. If you don't vote, then you don't whine. If we don't exercise our right to vote, how does that make us any different from some of these other governments such as monarchies or dictatorships? Your vote does make a difference. Okay, I am stepping off of my soap box now.

Let me end this with a funny story that a teacher at my school told me this afternoon. She said that when her daughter was young she overheard her mother talking about going voting. After hearing this, she insisted upon wearing her bathing suit. Finally, her mother was tired of arguing with her and let her wear the bathing suit. When they arrived at the polling station, the daughter was clearly dejected and wanted to know where the water was. Thinking her daughter was thirsty, she pointed to the water fountain, but the daughter was not satisfied. "I thought you said we were going boating!" She exclaimed.

Whether it's boating or voting, I love it. Happy Election Day!!

Toasty Tushies

It has been a cold and damp day here in Minnesota. The wind is howling outside the window to ensure that you are aware of its presence. The leaves dance and whip across the road . . . well only the ones that haven't been weighted down by the rain. It is dark and somewhat gloomy. My fingers and toes are freezing. **Side Note: Troy calls them 'ice picks' when they get this cold. It is fun to 'attack' him with my ice picks by sticking them on his back or stomach. He doesn't like this game for some reason.** So, on my way home from work today, I turned on my seat warmers for the first time this season. In just a few minutes, my tushie was nice and toasty. They were cozy amist the depressing and unpredictable elements.

I love my heated seats. They are the best thing I have in my car. I didn't even request them. I never even thought about it when I bought my car a few years ago. The model at the dealership just happened to have them and that was the one I bought. Since I bought my car in May, I didn't reap the full benefits of this added feature for a few months . . . and then, it changed my life. I don't know if I can ever own a car without heated seats now, especially since I live in Minnesota.

Because of my beloved heated seats, my car has been dubbed, "the winter car" meaning that when Troy and I take long car trips, we use his car in the warmer months and mine in the colder months. More often than not, I have driven/ridden from the Twin Cities to Chicago with my heated seats on the entire time. I love them. They are like a satisfying hug! They make you feel nice when your feet are wet and your hands are, well, ice picks. Thankfully there are two heat settings. I always start out with the highest heat setting, because I am usually cold and want to warm up quickly. Then, my tushie might start to feel like a rotisserie chicken so I switch to the lower setting. Not so oven-like, but still very nice. It's fantastic.

Sometimes, heated seats can work against you. My mom had heated seats in her Durango. When my sister and I would ride in there, we would turn on the other person's seats while they weren't looking. By the time you realized that the seat was on, it was too late. Your rump was roasted. It would have normally been a welcoming feeling except we would do this in the middle of summer when the last thing you need is more heat.

I would like to end this blog with a poem: . . . . . . (ahem) . . . . . .

Ode to my Heated Seats
You are a lovely comfort.
Though I cannot feel my appendages,
You warm my rear and lower back.
Everyone loves you.
By everyone, I mean, specifically me.

Gross and Nasty Stuff

Today, there was not any school for students, but I had to attend a workshop all day. These are usually fairly boring, but we get paid for them and they always supply breakfast and lunch, so I go. I spent the first part of my morning being certified in First Aid. These workshops always freak me out because one of two things will happen. One: I assume I have all the symptoms of whatever really awful thing the nurse is explaining or at the very least, will have them soon. Two: I get lightheaded due to the talk of blood, lost appendages, eyeballs popping out, etc.

The first issue happened right when we began our session. The nurse was showing us what to do if a student comes to school with a tick. The nurse even had three different dead ticks tapped to a board so that we could see them up close. Well, I already know what to do. Stay as far away from that student as possible and send him/her down to the nurse. That was easy. **Side Note: For those of you who don't know, I have an extreme phobia of ticks. Ironically, I have never had one, but if I ever got one, there would be a lot of screaming and crying involved.** So, at this point, I already have chills and am making involuntary noises such as, "blech," "eww," "yuck," etc. But then she started talking about these poisonous spiders that have flesh-eating venom. Yeah, that's right. FLESH. EATING. VENOM. They are called the Brown Recluse Spider and apparently they generally live in southern regions, but some like to brave the cold Minnesota weather. The nurse was recalling all these stories (that happened in Minnesota . . . yikes!) she had knew of people getting bitten and then the flesh decomposing off their victims bodies where the bite happened. By the time we took our first break, I was already mentally constructing a plastic bubble to live in because between the Lyme's disease-carrying ticks and the flesh-eating spiders, I don't have a chance at survival.

Then we came back from the break and talked about what to do if someone has a seizure, a bloody nose, runs into a forklift and has internal bleeding (this was a true scenario discussed, which I found handy due to the exorbitant amount of forklifts we have patrolling the hallways at Stevenson Elementary School), cuts off a finger, loses a tooth, etc. There was even a really cheesy video to go along with it, complete with a thinner and more tenor version of James Early Jones as our host.. The acting was terrible yet entertaining at the same time, but they would show what looked like real blood. I had to look away from the television so many times. I already know I am not good with this sort of thing. One time a student threw up in the lunchroom. I couldn't even ask if he was okay because every time I opened my mouth, my throat would close up and I would gag. A friend, who knew I was not going to be very helpful, told me not to worry and that she would handle it. Bless her because otherwise our janitor would have had an even bigger mess on his hands. My queasy stomach is the same reason why I can't watch Ultimate Fighting (plus, I think it is barbaric) or any kind of war movies. I went to see Gladiator when it was in theaters. I had to leave at one point to go get a drink of water because I was getting so grossed out. Good thing I work in schools with young people who like to spew things out all the time, right? I mean, I have seen everything from puke, pee, poop, snot, and blood from my students, and it seems like they always want to touch me during these times. Actually, Little Jimmy, this is a great teachable moment about 'personal space.' Use your words, not your hands . . . on my snow-white pea coat.

Anywho, regardless of my gag reflex, I passed the course and completed pediatric and adult First Aid, asthma care and learned all about the First Aid topics (i.e. ticks, spiders, animal bites, fevers, etc.) Whoo-hoo!! These sessions like I had today make me worry about when we have children of our own and they barf and bleed all over our house and cars. At least at school, I can call for help and I know the janitor is going to clean up the mess. Who is going to clean it at my house? Troy isn't good with that stuff either. We can only call our moms so many times before they realize that we aren't calling them to "help" us, we are calling them to "clean without us." My mom said that it is different when it is your own kids. I don't know about that. I hope she's right. I might need to get Merry Maids on my speed dial . . . you know, just in case.

Halloween Parties

Halloween is one of the greatest holidays, for the sole reason that you get to dress up and pretend to be your character. I remember as a kid, my mom usually made our costumes and I hated taking them off at the end of the night. I also remember when I got to that age where it wasn't "cool" to dress up anymore. Remember that? What a bummer.

When Troy and I started dating, we talked about how each of our friends could take a holiday and host a party so that we would have more excuses to get together and celebrate. We decided that we would take the next closest holiday, Halloween, since we didn't want to come up with this idea and then force our friends to do all the work for it. We sent out invites and informed our friends that they better show up wearing a costume - or else! The party turned out to be a hit and last night was our fourth annual Halloween party at the Carlson Crypt. Our friends' costumes have gotten better and better every year . . . . partly due to the fact that we make fun of the folks who wear lame costumes. They have to put up with the ridicule for a whole year until they can correct their mistake at the next party. We have also thought about buying mustaches and making the lame-os wear them, but we thought that mustaches are really cool and then we might make the problem even worse.

I start thinking about my Halloween costume months before I ever get it. Usually my number one concern is humor. Is this costume funny? Next, I contemplate the comfort level. Since I am also rocking the role as hostess, I need to be able to pull the hot dog mummies out of the oven and refill our guests drinks without a costume that is too cumbersome. Finally, I think about the appropriateness of my costume. Unfortunately, women's costumes tend to be very suggestive and even if I wanted to go that route, I don't have the equipment to fill the top part of the costume. Plus those costumes aren't funny therefore negating my number one costume requirement. Troy on the other hand, only thinks about the funny factor, which is why his costumes are always ridiculous and awesome.

This year, we almost did not have a party. We usually plan our party on the weekend closest to Halloween, which would be next weekend, but Troy got tickets to go see the Chicago Blackhawks since they are up in the Twin Cities to play the Minnesota Wild. We decided that we had to have a party. Our friends were counting on us. (When I told my friend, Shari, that we almost didn't have one, she was very disturbed and made a comment similar to the effect of not wanting to hear that kind of talk again.)

After the party, Troy and I almost felt kind of sad, not the day-after-Christmas-sad, but sad because we have to wait a whole year before we can wear a new costume and party with our friends. Until then, we have our fabulous photos to look at and if that doesn't work, I know the it is only a matter of time before it is time to put the Christmas decorations up around the house.

Pumpkins, Surgeons & Granola

One thing that makes Fall awesome is pumpkins. I love pretty much everything about them . . . except when they are rotting. That's just gross. **Side Note: When I was a kid, we used to put our pumpkins by the fireplace and one year they rotted and oozed all over the cement. I think the stain in still there. In fact, the culprit may have just been this pumpkin you see here. Good times.** I love Pumpkin Spice Lattes and this yummy, new, pumpkin granola recipe that my friend, Krista gave me and of course, pumpkin pie. But I really love to carve pumpkins and eat the pumpkin seeds, although, I never bake the pumpkin seeds myself. Actually, I really only eat them when I am at home and my mom bakes them. I don't have the patience to pull off all the pumpkin guts off the seeds.

Troy and I usually carve pumpkins every year. This can be kinda stressful because it is a lot of pressure deciding what to carve. I usually have to think about my design for a few days, followed by many hours of internet searching for the most creative design with little carving effort. Finally, I choose the prized blueprint and draw it onto my perfectly chosen pumpkin, just waiting to be transformed. Then I get my carving tools out. Generally, I give up on the crappy little pumpkin knives you buy at the store because I end up bending them (I have really big muscles); so I go right for my sleek and strong kitchen knives (that can withstand my raging biceps). Then as I begin to work, I slowly realize that my drawing was not quite as simple as I thought and I end up spending way more time on my pumpkin than I had originally intended. By the end, I have imprints and blisters on my hands from my tools and my fingertips are all pruney from the guts, but it is all worth it when you light the candle inside and then turn off all the lights! Though this is a great fire hazard, Troy and I will put our pumpkins in our room and fall asleep to their spooky glow.

You may remember from a previous blog that Troy and I are really addicted to the television show, LOST right now. One of the main characters is Jack Shepard who is a spinal surgeon. Because I usually have LOST on my mind, I was thinking today about pumpkins and Jack Shepard. Eventually the two themes became intertwined in my brain which made me wonder if surgeons feel an added amount of pressure when it comes time to carve pumpkins with their families. I mean, technically, this is their livelihood. They should be able to bust out the most complicated of designs. Not only that, they don't even need to finish the procedure with sutures, they can just leave the open cavities. I wonder if they put on scrubs and a face mask while operating on their pumpkin. I hope so. If they don't in real life, they do in my mind.

Speaking of Jack Shepard, do you think that people named Jack constantly have people commenting on their "Jack-O-Lantern" during Halloween? I bet their are a lot of spoofs with that. Kind of like when people comment to me that my name is like the Pam cooking spray. Now, that's an original one. And yes, my name is just like the Pam cooking spray because I am pretty sure there is not another spelling for "Pam."

Anywho, the main purpose of this blog was just to wonder out loud (or electronically) how surgeons feel about carving pumpkins. I am also going to add the super yummy recipe for pumpkin granola that Krista sent me because it will change your life and although you don't add crack to the recipe, it feels like it once you start eating. You won't be able to stop!


Krista's Pumpkin Granola

5 cups rolled oats
1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
¾ tsp. salt
¾ cup brown sugar
½ cup pumpkin puree
¼ cup applesauce
¼ cup maple syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup pepitas (I use sliced almonds)

1. Preheat the oven to 325° F. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.

2. In a large bowl, combine oats, spices, and salt. Mix well.

3. In a medium bowl, whisk together brown sugar, pumpkin puree, applesauce, maple syrup and vanilla extract. Whisk until smooth. Pour wet ingredients into oat mixture and stir until the oats are evenly coated. They will be moist. Evenly spread the mixture onto the prepared baking sheet.

4. Bake for 20 minutes. Remove pan from the oven and stir. Bake for an additional 15-20 minutes or until the granola is golden and crisp. Remove from the oven and stir in dried cranberries and pepitas (or almonds). Let cool completely. Store in an airtight container.

*Note-serve granola with yogurt, milk, or enjoy plain

Beginning to Look Like Christmas

Saying I love Christmas might be the world's biggest understatement. Here's how much I love Christmas.

1. One time my sister, Laura and I jammed out to Christmas music when we were riding in the car. It was July.
2. The day after Christmas is one of the saddest days of the year for me because I know I have 364 days until I can celebrate it again. I am seriously bummed out.
3. One time, my friend, Krista, and I had a sleepover downstairs by the Christmas tree when we were roomies. It was awesome. We kept the tree lights on all night.
4. Krista and I would also decorate the week before Thanksgiving because we wanted to get ample enjoyment from the decorations.
5. I have a shirt that says "Santa's Little Helper." I bought it as an adult.
6. I generally have a Christmas song stuck in my head from the day after Thanksgiving until January and sometimes, even later than that.
7. I love telling perfect strangers, "Merry Christmas" instead of saying "goodbye".
8. One of the reasons we got married in December is partly due to my love of Christmas and the way the church is decorated during that time. (Here is where I am shamelessly uploading a picture from the big day. Aren't the Christmas decorations in the background awesome?! We took these outside the train depot.)

Now that you know how much I love Christmas, you can only imagine my delight when I went to Target today and found a small isle, tucked behind the Halloween costumes and skulls, that contained the beginnings of Christmas decor. I walked down the isle, slowly, looking forward to the next few weeks when that one isle would soon grow into many isles, like a Chia Pet. I picked up a few boxes of Christmas cards, imagining our friends and family opening up our Christmas cheer and hanging them with the other holiday greeting cards they have collected this season. I looked at the duffel bags for Christmas trees and imagined myself pulling ours out of the attic and fluffing up her branches like a prom dress. And then . . . well, then I was at the end of the isle and realized that my ground turkey was going to smell funky if I didn't get myself to the check out lanes, but I did hum "Go Tell it on the Mountain" while on my way.

You may have gathered that I am not one of those people who sees Christmas decorations in October and grumbles about how Christmas keeps coming earlier and earlier. I love that fact!! **Side Note: You should know that I am probably going to have a ton of Christmas-themed blogs in the up coming months due to the my love of this topic.** I know that there are not many of my kind out there. In fact, I only know of two other people who love Christmas as much as I do: Laura and Krista. Everyone else I know seems to be able to contain themselves long enough to wait for Christmas until the "appropriate" time. What a big, fat, bummer fest. No thank you.

We usually travel down to Chicago for Thanksgiving, but this year we are staying in the Twin Cities. When Troy and I made our decision to stay, one of my first thoughts was, "Now, I'm going to have to wait to decorate for Christmas!" I usually decorate the week before, using the excuse that we will be out of town. Since we are having Thanksgiving at our house, I'm going to have to wait until at least our guests leave to pull out my old friends.

Anywho, all of this to say, it's official - at least for retailers and for me - the Christmas season has begun, and I couldn't be more excited!

Crazy Cat Lady?

I am starting to embrace the fact that I might be one of those crazy pet owners. You know, the kind who talks to their animals, gives them kisses and believes that their pets truly are the cream of the crop. (Well, Olivia anyway.) I have only recently come to this conclusion while I was at work a few weeks ago. There is another woman who has cats and I often ask her advice on things cat-related and we swap "cute, cat tales." One afternoon, during our lunch break, I made the mistake of divulging too much information about my love for cats. While my feline fan did not think it was strange, a few of my other friends did and though they may have tried to hide their countenance, I saw the looks on their faces . . . they thought I was nuts. This made me totally self-conscience and made me reevaluate my pet stance. Maybe I am nuts. But my question to you is, would I have gotten those same looks had I been talking about a dog? I would venture to say no.

I am certainly not going to start the debate about which animal is better, cats or dogs. I think that question is completely irrelevant considering it is solely based on an objective point of view, but I do wonder why cats had such a bad wrap. Take our cat Olivia for instance. **Side Note: I will not be using our other cat Molly in my pro-cat argument because she still has lots of annoying kitten tendencies and sometimes she drives me crazy. I will use her when I need to prove a point. Is this skewing information? Yes, but it's my blog and I can do what I wanna.** Olivia is almost like a small dog. She greets us at the door, follows us around the house, sleeps with us and generally likes to be in the same room as us. As an added bonus, she goes to the bathroom in her litter box whenever she needs to, allowing us to continue our day, uninterrupted by potty breaks. Another pro is her litter box, meaning we don't need to worry about minefields in the back yard. Yes, Troy does clean the litter box (we made a deal that he takes care of animal poop and I take care of small human poop. It's awesome because we each feel like we are getting the better end of the deal), but at least he doesn't need to go out with the pooper-scooper every day to collect the waste.

So, what is it that makes dog owners feel superior to cat owners? There is definitely a stigma. Why is it weird that I care for my cats when the next person who is a dog owner is not found strange for having the same feelings towards their pet? Cats need loving homes just like dogs do and in many ways, if you know that you can't stand up to the responsibilities that owning a dog entails, cats are a much better option. I know that I personally don't want to wake up early before work to take a dog on a walk so it can do its business. I also know that I don't want to have to try and find a dog-sitter when I want to go out of town. I don't want a dog waking me up or scratching at the door when it needs to go outside. Grooming and vet bills can be expensive and what if my dog gets fleas or ticks and brings those along with his muddy paws into my house! And until I am ready to handle those responsibilities or if Troy is dying to do them, we will be content with our cats. But people seem to overlook these responsible checklists that cat owners make.

Now, I am not that crazy of a cat owner, despite what some of my colleagues may think. I do understand why people pour so much money into their animals and I also understand how it is possible to love an animal so much. I didn't always use to be like this. When I was growing up, we couldn't have any pets. Let me rephrase that, we couldn't have any fun pets, namely a cat or a dog. We had lame pets: fish, birds and gerbils. One time I did get a tadpole to take home after we studied them in my second grade science unit, but it never reached adulthood. And another time my sister and I had two rabbits, but we had to get rid of them after two days because my dad was allergic. Because we didn't have any pets that were "fun," I never understood people who would come to school sad about their sick or dying cats and dogs. To me it just seemed like that was the circle of life. I didn't know how you could get attached to an animal. Maybe that's the problem with the people I ate lunch with. Maybe they never had the chance to get attached to a pet. That's really not all that strange considering, I never knew that until I was 25!

Anywho, the point of this blog is not to rip on dog owners. Someday, Troy and I will have dogs too, but I am just trying to make a case for all those cute kitties out there. So, I am here to say, yes, I love my cats. They make excellent snugglers, they do funny things like make themselves cozy in the washing machine or hide under rugs, they are easy to take care of and all they want is a little love.